Blog

Category: Personal

  • Prayer Changes Everything

    Prayer changes everything. Not just the situation, but you. Not just the outcome, but your heart, your posture, your perspective.
    I’ve learned that the most powerful prayer you can pray isn’t God fix this, It’s God, fix me. Not make a way, But have Your way.

    Because real prayer isn’t always pretty.
    Sometimes it’s crying on the bathroom floor, saying, I don’t understand this, but I trust You anyway. Sometimes it’s silence, when words run out and all you’ve got left is your surrender. Sometimes it’s not begging for the storm to end, but asking God to teach you how to walk on water in the middle of it.

    For too long, I prayed with a grip. Tight fists.
    Trying to control the outcome. Trying to talk God into my plan like He didn’t already see the full picture. But that kind of prayer wears you out. Because you’ll never find peace trying to be the author of a story you were never meant to write.

    Everything changed when I stopped treating prayer like a transaction and started treating it like trust. Not a list of demands, but a moment of realignment. Not a place to vent, but a place to surrender.

    And let me tell you, When you get to that place where your will bows to His. Where your plans die so His can live. Where you stop praying for escape and start praying for endurance. That’s when prayer becomes powerful. That’s when you feel heaven break through the chaos. That’s when peace doesn’t depend on answers, it depends on presence.

    Jesus didn’t beg for a detour around the cross. He asked if there was another way, sure. But then He said something that echoes through eternity:
    “Not My will, but Yours be done.”

    That’s the kind of prayer that changes everything. Because it’s not rooted in fear, it’s rooted in faith. So I still pray. Every day.
    But not just for comfort, for clarity. Not just for blessings, but for boldness. Not just for the outcome, but for obedience. Not just for protection, but for purpose.

    Because God’s not just trying to get me through something, He’s trying to make me into something. And maybe, just maybe the waiting, the breaking, the detours, they’re not the enemy. Maybe they’re the tools God’s using to bring me into alignment with Him.

    So if you’re praying right now and it feels like nothing’s moving, Maybe something is, its just inside of you. Maybe He’s not fixing the storm yet, because He’s busy strengthening you.

    And I promise, when you stop trying to change God’s mind and start asking Him to change your heart? That’s when it all starts to shift. Prayer doesn’t just change things. It changes you. And once you change, Everything else will too.

    “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.” ~Psalm 37:4
    Because when you finally align with Him, His desires become yours. And that’s when you find peace you can’t explain. And a strength you didn’t know you had.

  • The Real You, They’ll Never Know

    Isn’t it weird how many versions of you exist in people’s minds? You’re just one person, but depending on who’s watching, who’s listening, and what season of life they caught you in, they might swear they know exactly who you are… and still be completely wrong.

    Some people see you as the shy one. You are quiet in crowds, not big on small talk, keeping to yourself.

    Some see you as the mean one. Because maybe you were blunt, maybe they caught you on a bad day, maybe you set a boundary they didn’t like.

    Some see you as the annoying one. Maybe you are too much, too loud, too opinionated… or maybe just too different.

    Some see you as the caring one. You are the one who checked in, who stayed up late listening, who gave without expecting anything back.

    Some see you as the silly one. The one always cracking jokes, bringing light to heavy moments, making people laugh when they needed it most.

    Then there’s more:

    Some see you as the flaky one. They never knowing the full story behind why you didn’t show up.

    Some see you as the strong one. They didn’t see the breakdowns, just the way you kept going.

    Some see you as the fake one. That’s because they judged your growth as pretending.

    Some see you as the wise one. That’s because your pain taught you things you never asked to learn.

    Some see you as the background character in their story. You are just someone who helped for a moment, then disappeared.

    Some see you as the villain. All because your healing looked like cutting ties.

    Some see you as the hero. Because your presence changed everything for them.

    Some don’t see you at all. That is just their idea of you, filtered through rumors or projections.

    It’s wild, really. The version they carry of you says more about them than it ever says about you.

    And maybe that’s why you’ve got to stop shrinking or shape-shifting to fit everyone else’s story. The only version that matters is the one you live with every day. The one that’s healing, growing, praying, falling short, and getting back up again.

    Let them think what they want.
    Just make sure you know who you are.

  • Love Deeper

    Love deeper. Not wider. Not louder. Deeper.

    The world will tell you love is flashy. That it’s about grand gestures and picture-perfect moments and “look what I did” announcements. But real love, genuine soul-binding, heart-wrecking love is quiet. It’s steady. It doesn’t beg for attention, it just shows up… every single day.

    It’s staying when walking away would be easier. It’s listening when you’d rather speak. It’s holding someone’s broken pieces when you don’t know how to fix them, but you refuse to let them carry it alone.

    Love deeper, even when it’s not returned the way you hoped. Love anyway. Because love isn’t about being owed something. It’s about giving even when it hurts, forgiving even when it’s hard, and believing even when your heart is tired.

    Love deeper than the offense. Love deeper than the silence. Love deeper than your own understanding.

    The kind of love that mirrors Jesus doesn’t just cover the easy days. It walks with you through the storms. It meets you in your mess. It pulls you from the dirt, wipes your tears, and reminds you who you are even when you’ve forgotten.

    Some of the most powerful love you’ll ever show won’t be seen by crowds. It’ll be the quiet prayers you whisper over someone who hurt you. The grace you give to someone who may never say thank you. The patience you show when your own soul is screaming for peace.

    I want to love like that. I want to love in a way that makes hell tremble, not because I’m perfect, but because I chose to love when bitterness would’ve been easier. I want to love like Jesus did: bruised, rejected, and still willing.

    We don’t need more people chasing spotlight love. We need hearts willing to go deeper. To dig through the rubble and find the gold in people. To be the kind of love that lingers long after the feelings fade.

    So if you’re reading this and your heart’s heavy, love deeper. Not because it’s easy. But because it’s worth it. Because somebody out there is drowning in silence, and your love might be the lifeline they never expected.

    Let’s stop waiting for perfect moments to love. Let’s be the reason someone believes love still exists.

    Let’s love deeper.

  • Jesus is My Confidence

    I don’t walk with my head high because of who I am. I walk with my head high because of who He is.

    My confidence isn’t rooted in my strength, my talents, or my image, it’s rooted in a Savior who got down into the dirt with me. A King who didn’t just call from a distance, but stepped right into my mess, my failures, my broken places, and lifted me up.

    When I was too weak to climb out, He got in with me. When I was too dirty to be touched, He reached anyway. When I was too lost to find a way, He became the way.

    I don’t just bless the Lord when life feels good and the sun’s on my face. I bless Him when I’m bleeding in the valley. I shout His name when the walls are closing in. I praise Him when the mountain seems too far to even dream about. I beat my chest and It’s not for show, it’s the sound of a sinner who was spared.

    Because I’ve learned, real faith isn’t built on the mountaintop. It’s built in the valley, when you have to fight to believe. It’s forged in the moments where every feeling tells you to quit, but His Spirit says, “Keep going.”

    Jesus met me in the valley. Jesus walked with me through the storm. Jesus sat with me in the dirt, wiped the tears off my face, and gave me a reason to rise.

    So no, my confidence isn’t in the applause.
    It’s not in the approval. It’s not in my own ability. It’s not in what I can see. It’s in Him.

    Jesus didn’t wait for me to clean up before He loved me. Jesus didn’t leave me in the pit I dug with my own hands. Jesus didn’t just offer me a second chance, He offered me a new life.

    Whether I’m standing tall on the mountaintop or crawling hands and knees through a dark valley, I will bless His Name. I will shout His praise louder than my doubt, louder than my fear, louder than my pain.

    Because my confidence has scars on it. It’s been through some things. It’s not naive.
    It’s not fragile. It’s anchored in the One who overcame death itself to pull me out of the grave.

    Jesus is my hope. Jesus is my security. Jesus is my confidence. I’ll never stop shouting it in the valley and I’ll shout it just as loud in the mountain top. Glory to God, in every season, in every battle, in every breath.

  • Grace In The Dirt

    I don’t know why Jesus would want to use someone like me. The truth is, I wouldn’t have chosen me. I spent years not even wanting myself. I couldn’t stand the man in the mirror. I couldn’t stand the weight of my own failures. And trust me, there’s been more failure than success. More broken promises than kept ones. More moments of weakness than strength. I am not some special person. I’m not polished. I’m not impressive.
    I’m messy. I’m complicated. I’m stubborn.
    I’m a walking contradiction most days. I’m desperate for grace and hungry for God but fighting the flesh that betrays Him.

    Sometimes I sit in the quiet and wonder: Why me, Lord? Why use someone so deeply flawed? Why love someone who spent so long running away? Why die for someone who couldn’t even bear to look at himself?

    But then I remember that It was never about me being good enough. It was never about me being worthy. It was never about what I had to offer.

    He wanted me because He loved me first.
    Before I lifted my eyes. Before I whispered a prayer. Before I ever thought of Him. When I was still a mess. When I was still covered in shame. When I was still sprinting toward destruction.

    He wanted me because He saw what He could do in me, not what I had done.
    He wanted me because broken vessels are the ones that shine His light the best.
    He wanted me because His grace doesn’t glorify the worthy; it glorifies Himself. He wanted me because He is a Redeemer.
    Because He takes messes and makes testimonies. Because He takes ashes and makes beauty. Because He takes the things the world throws away and says, “This one’s mine.”

    Jesus didn’t come for the perfect. He didn’t come for the powerful. He came for the sick.
    He came for the weak. He came for the sinners who had nothing to offer except empty hands and a broken heart. And if you’re like me, if you’ve ever wondered why He would even look your way, Just know it’s because love like His doesn’t make sense by human standards. It runs deeper. It sees farther. It chooses anyway. I still don’t understand it fully. But I’m learning to stop questioning it, and start living like someone who was worth rescuing.

    Because to Him, I was. And to Him, you are too. He wanted me because He is “close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). He wanted me because “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). He wanted me because “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise” (1 Corinthians 1:27).

    He didn’t wait for me to clean up. He didn’t wait for me to figure it all out. He came running while I was still a long way off (Luke 15:20). That’s grace. That’s mercy. That’s Jesus. So if you’re standing there with nothing to offer but a broken heart and tired hands, good. That’s all He ever needed to work a miracle. And He’s not done yet.

  • Religious Lips, Rebellious Hearts

    You’re Worshipping Idols and Don’t Even Know It. I’ve been guilty of this. I have to check myself daily because it’s an easy trap to walk into. It doesn’t look like a golden calf, so you think you’re good. It doesn’t stand on an altar or wear a robe, so you think it doesn’t count. But idolatry today is much quieter. Much more deceptive. Much more comfortable.

    It looks like the bank account you obsess over. The job title you wear like armor. The mirror you check twenty times a day. The approval you constantly crave from people who don’t even walk with God. The image you’re desperate to maintain, even if it means faking a life you’re not really living.

    You’re not bowing with your knees, but you’re bowing with your priorities. You’re not singing to it, but you’re sacrificing for it. You’re not burning incense, but you’re burning time, energy, peace, purpose. All of this just to keep it happy.

    Some of you are worshipping a relationship that’s not even healthy. You’ve put a person in a place only God should occupy, and you’re wondering why everything feels off-balance. You’re expecting a broken human being to give you identity, peace, fulfillment. The things only the Holy Spirit was ever meant to bring.

    And here’s the part nobody wants to hear:
    You worship people more than you worship God. The scary part is you don’t even see it.

    You fear what they’ll think more than what God already said. You shape your life around their expectations instead of His commands.
    You let their opinions define your worth more than His truth does. And you chase their validation like it’s eternal, just like it’s salvation.

    But people can’t save you. People didn’t die for you. People didn’t tear the veil. People didn’t conquer the grave. So why are they sitting on the throne of your life?

    Others are worshipping their pain. You’ve made an idol out of your trauma. You’ve built your personality around what hurt you, and now you protect it more than you pursue healing.

    And let’s talk about comfort for a second, because for a lot of us, that’s the true god of this generation. We worship comfort. We sacrifice growth for ease. Obedience for convenience. Holiness for pleasure. Truth for what won’t offend.

    You’re still attending church. Still quoting verses. Still wearing the cross. But your heart belongs to something else. And God sees it.

    These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. – Matthew 15:8

    That verse isn’t about pagans. That’s about us. The truth? Idols don’t need temples anymore. They live in your habits. They live in your feed. They live in what you scroll to, what you binge on, what you can’t say no to.
    They live in the quiet moments of compromise that you keep justifying because “God knows my heart.”

    Yeah. He does. He knows who’s really sitting on the throne in your life. And if it’s not Him, it doesn’t matter how dressed up it looks, how culturally accepted it is, or how many Christian words you throw on top of it. This makes it still an idol. And idols always demand sacrifice. Eventually, they will ask for everything.

    So maybe it’s time to do a heart check. What are you really worshipping? What do you rearrange your life for? What do you trust more than God? What can’t your ego and pride let go of, even if He asked?

    Because following Jesus doesn’t just mean putting Him first. It means putting everything else second. Tear the idols down. All of them.
    Even the ones you dressed up in religion.
    Even the ones that feel good. Even your Pastors, Prophets, Evangelists, and Religious Leaders that have died that you still worship more than God. You put their words and love you had for them above your love for God.

    You can’t walk in freedom if you’re still bowing to chains. And you can’t serve a holy God with a divided heart. Choose today who you will serve. And make sure it’s not the god of them, or the god of you. Only One deserves that throne.

  • The Foundery Church

    Let me tell you about The Foundery Church.

    It’s not your typical Sunday morning performance. It’s not a concert stage with fog machines and the dimmed lights designed to entertain you. It’s not a place where you come to blend in, check a box, or sip coffee while your soul stays asleep. The Foundery Church is a forge, a place where heat, pressure, and time shape broken metal into purpose-filled steel.

    This isn’t a museum for saints. It’s a workshop for the willing. A gathering place for the gritty. It’s a shelter for the tired. It’s a safe place for the messed up. The ones who’ve been through the fire and the ones just stepping into it. We don’t pretend to have it all together, but we know the One who holds all things together.

    The Foundery isn’t about being flashy or having perfect people. It’s about process. About transformation. About discipleship that costs something. Because we believe God doesn’t just save you, He refines you. He doesn’t just hand you grace, He teaches you how to carry it like a sword.

    Here, we preach the blood of Jesus without watering it down. We speak the truth in love, even when it cuts. Because conviction isn’t cruelty, it’s care. And repentance isn’t shame, it’s freedom.

    At the Foundery, you won’t find a stage where man is lifted up, you’ll find an altar where pride comes to die. You won’t be handed motivational quotes, you’ll be handed a cross. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s real. And because we know that on the other side of the suffering, there’s resurrection power.

    We sing loud. We cry hard. We pray like warriors. And we don’t let our brothers or sisters walk alone. This is a place where iron sharpens iron, where scars are sacred, and where every testimony smells like smoke from the fire God brought us through.

    So if you’re tired of fake. If you’re done with shallow. If you want something that challenges you, breaks you, heals you, and builds you, welcome to The Foundery.

    This is the church for the ones who still believe revival is possible. This is the church where God doesn’t just restore, He reforges.
    Let the sparks fly.

  • The Soil That Knows My Name

    Here’s what this place means to me. This dirt, this land, this air, it’s where I am from. Maybe I didn’t fully grow up here, but this is where I was made. Where my bones were shaped, where my heart was taught to beat with pride, patience, and grit.

    This place didn’t just raise me, it molded me. It whispered lessons into me every time I walked across the field, every time I sat on that porch swing, every time I heard the creak of the barn door or the rattle of gravel under car tires.

    A large part of my heart belongs here. Stuck right here in this soil, between the fence posts and the hay bales, in the shadows of the hills and the warmth of that old farmhouse kitchen. I carry it with me every day, even when I’m not here.

    Family runs deep in my veins. Deeper than most folks understand anymore. Not just in last names or old photos, but in the way I love, the way I work, the way we fight for each other and stand through storms together.

    This may just be the most beautiful place on earth to me. And it’s not just because of the view. It’s the feeling. The memories. The stories.

    I remember feeding the calves with Grandma. Her voice was soft, her hands steady. She taught me how to be gentle with something small and scared.

    I remember collecting the dead chickens in the coop with Grandpa. That’s not the kind of memory that makes it into the movies, but it’s real. And it taught me about life, and death, and responsibility.

    I remember the quads, the speed, the mud, the laughter. I remember every path we carved through the fields like it was yesterday.

    And that’s just the tip of it.

    I remember the smell of fresh cut hay.
    I remember cold mornings when breath hung heavy in the air. I remember the sun rising over the hills, and the quiet that followed. I remember all of the family dinners that felt like communion. I remember sitting on the porch after a long day of playing with my siblings, we’d watch the sky catch fire as the sun dipped behind the hills.

    I. Remember. Everything.

    This place is more than just a spot on a map. It’s my foundation. My beginning. And no matter where I go, it’s my home.

    Always will be.

  • The Harsh Truth

    I’m thankful for the liars.
    I’m thankful for the haters.
    I’m thankful for the betrayers.

    They pushed me closer to my purpose. They drove me into the arms of God. What they meant to destroy me, God is using to build me. Every lie, every knife in my back, every whisper campaign, they all helped me see clearer, pray deeper, and stand stronger. They taught me who not to be. And more importantly, they helped reveal who I am.

    I know some of what I say is uncomfortable. I know it goes against the grain. It grates against flesh. It stirs something in people. But that’s exactly what it’s supposed to do. The things I write aren’t meant to stroke egos or win applause of people, they are meant to shake the spirit awake. Jesus didn’t come to bring peace in the way the world defines it. He said it Himself that He came to bring a sword. Division. Separation. Not to destroy, but to distinguish His people from the enemy’s people.

    Too many churches today are nothing more than motivational TED Talks with a cross in the background. People sit under pastors who wouldn’t dare preach about sin, hell, or holiness. Instead, they preach prosperity, comfort, and self-love dressed up in Christian lingo. It’s not the Gospel. It’s self-help sprinkled with Scripture. And it’s sending people to hell with a smile on their face and a tithe envelope in their hand.

    We’ve made church a stage, not a sanctuary. We’ve traded conviction for comfort. Truth for tolerance. The Holy Spirit for hype.

    But I refuse to stay quiet.
    I refuse to water it down.
    I refuse to speak half-truths just to make people feel safe in their sin.

    Because the truth isn’t always gentle.
    It’s not always soft. It doesn’t always hug you, it convicts you. It challenges you. It calls you to crucify your flesh, not cater to it.

    The real Gospel doesn’t make you comfortable. It calls you to war, with your sin, with the world, and with anything that stands between you and the will of God.

    So if you’re looking for comfortable Christianity, you’re in the wrong place. This isn’t about popularity. This isn’t about applause. This is about eternity. And I’d rather be hated for speaking the truth than loved for feeding people lies.

  • The Past Doesn’t Define You

    I don’t even know how to explain all that I’ve been through. I’ve walked through fire that left me scarred in ways that no one could ever see. I’ve smiled through pain just to survive the day. I’ve been in rooms full of people and felt completely alone. I’ve lied and said I’m okay more than I’d care to admit. Behind closed doors, I’ve cried out to God with nothing but brokenness in my hands. I was left wondering if He was even still listening.

    I’ve done things I wish I could undo. Seen things I wish I could unsee. Said things in anger, in pain, out of fear. Many things that still echo in my mind, reminding me of who I was when I was just trying to hold myself together.

    I’ve been brought to my knees more than once. And not in worship, but in utter defeat. With absolute regret. Also with complete exhaustion. I’ve looked in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back. I’ve asked God to just let it end. Just let the pain stop. But he had different plans, because I’m still here. And that’s not just a sentence, it’s a miracle.

    The devil came for me hard. First, he tried to destroy my mind when he came at me and caused me anxiety, and the shame. Most of all, the constant voices telling me I wasn’t enough. Then he came for my body, with sickness, fatigue, and chronic pain that doesn’t stop. When that wasn’t enough, he came for both, hoping I’d finally break.

    What the enemy didn’t know is that God had already put something in me that couldn’t be killed. He put a purpose. He gave me a calling. He gave me a reason to rise again. Even when I had no strength of my own. I’m here for such a time as this.

    I’m not who I used to be. I’m also not who I’m going to be. But I am here, wiser, stronger, and more aware of the fight I’m in. I’m also more confident in the God who’s kept me through it all. I’m not done. I’m not out. I refuse to let the darkness that tried to take me out win.

    You can’t kill what God planted. You can’t silence what He raised up for this generation. I may be bruised, but I am not broken. I may carry around scars physically and emotionally, but they are the proof that I survived. That I overcame because the grace of God.

    For anyone that is reading this who’s barely holding on, hear me when I say this, You are not alone, And this isn’t the end. God’s not done with you either. This is just the beginning.